


Some Nights I'm Scared You'll Forget Me Again

by pukeandcry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-29
Updated: 2012-09-29
Packaged: 2017-11-15 06:51:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/524385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pukeandcry/pseuds/pukeandcry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn stifles a groan. He’s not terribly surprised -- Harry’d been mooning over Louis since the day they met three years ago when Zayn had moved into the house next to him -- but he’d been hoping that Harry would eventually get over it and redirect his attention to someone else. This development does not bode well for that turn of events, though. (High School AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Nights I'm Scared You'll Forget Me Again

“So,” Harry says, flopping carelessly onto Zayn’s bed and knocking several of Zayn’s textbooks off in the process. “Guess who I’ve got loads of classes with?”

“Dunno,” Zayn replies, bending over to retrieve the books Harry’d kicked off and re-sorting them into stacks. It’s the first day of term, and he’s trying to at least feign being organized for at least a full week of classes, just as a personal challenge.

“ _Guess_ ,” Harry demands, grinning his stupid charming grin and pulling a bag of crisps out from who knows where. Probably he’d stashed them between Zayn’s bed and the wall at some point, which doesn’t surprise Zayn at all. Harry spends more time in Zayn’s bedroom than his own, and has a nasty habit of ferreting snack foods in strange places. Once Zayn had found a whole tray of party rings hidden beneath his bathroom sink.

“Wayne Rooney. The Queen. The ghost of Oliver Cromwell. I dunno, Haz.” Zayn shoves Harry’s leg aside so that he has some room to sit, and pulls out his mobile to text his mum, asking if Harry can stay for dinner. He’s not sure why he still bothers because his mum makes enough for Harry to eat with them as a matter of course now, but Zayn’s in the habit and it’s hard to break.

“Better than that,” Harry says, wiggling his toes excitedly. “Are you ready? Properly excited? I don’t want to reveal it unless you’re properly excited, Zayn.”

Zayn rolls his eyes. “Alright, _please_ , Haz, I can’t stand it any longer. Please tell me which boring twat that we go to school with has you so worked up. The suspense is killing me.”

“Alright, if you insist. It’s Louis Tomlinson.” Harry sits back, looking inordinately pleased with himself.

“Louis Tomlinson,” Zayn repeats, feeling something sour twist in his stomach.

“Louis _Tomlinson_ ,” Harry sighs in confirmation. “The fittest boy at school and my future husband, probably. It was brilliant, Zayn, he sat next to me in every class we had together and called me ‘Curly’ and I loaned him a pencil in maths and he didn’t give it back.”

Zayn stifles a groan. He’s not terribly surprised -- Harry’d been mooning over Louis since the day they met three years ago when Zayn had moved into the house next to him -- but he’d been hoping that Harry would eventually get over it and redirect his attention to someone else. This development does not bode well for that turn of events, though.

“He’s dead funny, Zayn, and his smile is dreamy.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard,” Zayn says, frowning. “From you. Repeatedly.”

Harry frowns right back. “I dunno why you hate him so much,” he pouts.

“He’s just a twat,” Zayn says, shrugging. “He thinks he’s such a laugh but really he’s just obnoxious and loud, and he gets off with anything that’s got two legs, and--” He sighs, and doesn’t finish.

“He _is_ a laugh,” Harry says, nudging Zayn’s ankle with his own. “And so what if he’s a bit slutty? Just improves my odds, doesn’t it?” Zayn pulls a face at that. “C’mon, Zayn, I’ve very likely just found true love, can’t you at least fake enthusiasm for me? Or else I’ll have to find someone else to be my best man when we elope, and I’d rather not.”

“Hooray,” says Zayn flatly.

“Seriously,” says Harry, his voice going softer. “You’ve never even said a single word to him. I really think you’d like if him you did.”

Zayn considers explaining to Harry exactly why he’s so disparaging of Louis, but it would probably take far too much time, and he already feels like enough of a twat for raining on Harry’s parade when he’s so excited, so instead he just says “Doubt it.” Harry shrugs, but lets it go.

“Alright, fine, be like that. Hey, d’you reckon I can stay for dinner? Mum’s got another late shift.”

Zayn feels himself relax and leans against Harry’s shoulder, pulling one of his notebooks into his lap. “Yeah, you’re good. Mum told me to tell you we’ll eat around half six.”

“You’re the best best mate in all of England, Malik,” Harry grins, resting his head on Zayn’s shoulder. Zayn smiles and snuggles in closer to Harry to, ignoring it when he gets a mouth full of curls in the process.

-

The thing about school is that it’s _fine_ , Zayn just wishes he didn’t have to waste so much time there. Some of his classes are decent enough, he likes art and this term he’s got a free study in it to work on his drawing portfolio, and his literature courses are interesting enough. Maths is a whole different issue, but if anything it’s good for a nap, so there’s that.

Mostly he’s unimpressed by the people. Harry’s the only real mate he’s got there even though his parents had moved the family to the area more than three years ago. They’d been after Zayn to try out for the football team when he’d first started, but after their second practice he’d seen two of the starting players roughing up a younger boy outside the change rooms, and after he’d pulled them away and told them to fuck off, he’d thrown his kit in a bin and hadn’t been back since. After that he’d never really been the football players’ favorite person, which was fine as far as he was concerned, but it did limit his social options a bit.

There were a few others that seemed alright -- Aiden with the hair, for instance, who usually laughs when Zayn makes snide comments during their shared history lecture, and Will from his drawing classes is always up to bunk off and smoke cigarettes behind the gym. But still, Zayn would hardly count them as friends -- just people who were more tolerable to be around than others.

But he had Harry, which was plenty in Zayn’s opinion. He hadn’t quite known what to do with Harry the first time they’d met -- his family had only been in their new house for a few days and Zayn had been outside reading when Harry had hopped over the garden wall separating their houses, plopped down easily next to Zayn, and asked what his book was like they’d left off in the middle of a conversation and were picking it up again. He’d been startled, but showed Harry the cover of his book, and then Harry had been off like a shot, talking about books and then football and then a million other things, and before Zayn had a chance to think about it, Harry had decided they were mates, and that had been that. He’d been hanging around ever since, which was more than alright with Zayn -- he liked Harry as totally as he was indifferent to everyone else, which was a considerable amount.

So Zayn doesn’t love school, and he doesn’t hate it either, but he really does hate the part where he has to see Louis Tomlinson every day, and relatedly, having to hear Harry wax poetic about Louis’ hair and how it defies the laws of gravity. Louis doesn’t make sense to Zayn -- he’s not athletic or particularly popular but somehow he gets on with everyone anyway. He throws parties at his step-dad’s enormous house, which inevitably end with someone walking in on him with his hand down someone’s trousers -- last year it had been Jeremy Smith, and the general non-reaction to that had left Zayn confused for days. If it had been anyone else it would’ve been a massive scandal, he’s sure, but somehow it had mostly been forgotten by the following Monday.

But Louis has always been the exception to the rules, apparently. He’s inappropriately loud and can’t seem to shut up when he ought to, and he does things like hijack the broadcasting class’ weather announcements to perform one-man-band routines and change around the notices on the bulletin boards so they spell rude things, but somehow he’s never in trouble, which only irritates Zayn further. By all accounts Louis should be the annoying kid that people grudgingly tolerate at best, but for some reason, everyone seems to genuinely like him.

With the exception of Zayn.

So a week into the term, Zayn is less than thrilled to look up halfway through his biology class to see Louis swaggering into the room.

“Schedule change,” Louis drawls loudly, handing a slip of paper to the teacher. “My talents were being wasted in physics, apparently.”

Zayn rolls his eyes, hunching over a bit more and scribbling indistinctly in the margin of his notebook.

“So it would seem,” the teach confirms, handing the paper back to Louis. “There’s a seat in the back for you, Mr. Tomlinson.”

Zayn tries to surreptitiously shove his books over to take up the empty spot next to him, hoping there’s another one further back that Louis can go to but not wanting to draw attention to himself by turning to look. Louis’ hip catches the corner of Zayn’s table as he passes and Zayn’s pulse races a little at the jolt, but fortunately Louis keeps walking, and slouches into a seat in the furthest row.

Zayn keeps his head lowered over his notebook for the rest of classes, and by the time the bell rings he’s stiff in the neck with the effort of ignoring Louis.

-

“He’s in your biology class?” Harry asks at the end of the day. They’re sprawled on their backs across one of the far tennis courts, Harry resting his head on his bag and Zayn smoking and squinting up at the sky from behind his sunglasses. “Lucky bastard. That’s one of the only ones I haven’t got with him.”

“Yeah, well, you’re welcome to swap me if you like,” Zayn says.

“His mate Liam’s in mine, though,” Harry continues. Zayn doesn’t much like the sappy tone his voice is taking. “We’re partnered up for the next few weeks and he said maybe we could get together and revise. D’you think Louis would come too, even if he’s in a different class?”

“Only if you’re very unlucky, I suppose,” Zayn drawls, flicking the butt of his cigarette away and lighting another.

“Liam’s quite nice, though. You’d like him as well, I think.”

Zayn shrugs. Harry seems to be under the impression that Zayn would make great friends with anyone. He’s not sure where he’s got that idea from, as historically it’s proven to be untrue.

“D’you know Nick’s having a party in a few weeks?” Harry asks. “Cher told me about it after lunch, supposed to be massive. Reckon we’ll go?”

“Probably, yeah,” says Zayn, stifling a yawn. It’s bloody hot out in the sun, and it makes him want to lay down and sleep. “Unless a more attractive option presents itself.”

“More attractive than going to a party with _me_? Unlikely,” Harry jokes.

“Point taken,” Zayn says, laughing. “Your beauty remains unchallenged, rest assured.”

Harry just reaches out to flick Zayn on the ear, which leads to Zayn yanking the beanie off Harry’s head, and it’s several minutes after that before they compose themselves.

“Anyway,” Harry continues once he catches his breath. “You will go with me, yeah? To Nick’s party?”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Zayn says. He suspects there’s an unspoken motive as to why Harry wants to go so badly and that it starts with an L, but if Harry’s not going to bring it up then neither is Zayn. He’s had about his fill of talking about Louis for the year.

“Oi, we’re meant to have this court,” a voice says from behind them, and Zayn glances backwards. One of the tennis players -- Dan, or Dean, or something stupid -- is frowning at them, his hands on his hips petulantly. “And you can’t smoke here, Malik.”

“Piss off,” Zayn calls, shoving one of the sleeves of his plaid shirt up where it had started to come unrolled.

“We’ve got practice,” Dan or Dean complains.

Zayn doesn’t respond, and eventually Dan or Dean stomps off. It’s really quite unbecoming, Zayn thinks, storming around like a git in tiny white shorts.

“C’mon, let’s go back to mine anyway,” Harry says, standing up and dusting off his hands before offering one to Zayn. “M’starving and Gemma left half a pizza in the fridge.”

Harry links his arm through Zayn’s as they walk to the parking lot, and after they eat all of Gemma’s pizza and dispose of the evidence they collapse into Harry’s bed, where Zayn immediately falls asleep. He wakes up hours later, and it’s dark out. Harry’s next to him in bed, wearing his glasses and grinning like a maniac as he types away on his mobile.

“Texted your mum and said you were sleeping here,” Harry explains. “She says to pick up milk on your way home from school tomorrow.”

Zayn just grunts and kicks off his trainers. Harry pulls a clean pair of jogging bottoms from the pile of clothes on his floor without even looking up from his phone and tosses them towards Zayn.

“Y’still texting her now?” Zayn asks, wriggling out of his jeans and pulling on the joggers. “You two are too chummy, honestly.”

Harry laughs. “Nah, she went off to bed ages ago.” Zayn rolls his eyes. “Louis had a question about the play we’re reading in drama, and we’ve just been sort of... chatting.”

“Hm,” Zayn says. “Budge over.” He shoves at Harry’s shoulder to make room for his own, curling up under the blankets.

“Zayn,” Harry starts. “I know you don’t, like. I mean. I know you have this _thing_ about Louis, but I like him quite a lot, and, like. I dunno, I think he might like me too.”

“Er. Are you sure?” Zayn asks. “I mean, no, not that you aren’t a catch, but he flirts with everyone, y’know? Are you sure he’s not just being... Louis?”

“I don’t think so,” Harry says, and his face is all soft around the edges. Zayn doesn’t remember the last time he saw Harry look like that. “I think it’s different.”

“Well,” Zayn starts. He wants to say he’s happy for Harry, but can’t bring himself to do it. “Well I hope it works out for the best.”

Harry bites his lip and finally turns to Zayn. “I won’t -- I mean. If you really hate him that much and tell me not to do anything with him, I won’t, but. I dunno. I think I’d like to try, at least.”

“Haz,” Zayn says, not sure how he means to finish it. “Just -- whatever you do, be careful, yeah?”

Harry tosses his mobile on the table next to his bed and folds his glasses on top of it. “Yeah, ‘course.”

Zayn curls in closer as Harry flicks off the light. He thinks he ought to feel better knowing that he could end this whole thing before it begins if he wanted to, but somehow the knowledge just makes him feel worse, sitting like lead in his stomach.

-

For the rest of the week, Harry can’t stop rambling on about Louis -- what particularly hilarious thing Louis had said in maths and what color his shirt was that day and how fit he looked the day he wore a blue jumper. Zayn begins to keep a tally of how many times Harry says Louis’ name, but gives up when he gets to twenty three during a single rerun of Friends. So when Zayn gets to lunch on Wednesday the following week, he’s simultaneously surprised and not surprised at all to see Louis sitting next to Harry. He recognizes Louis’ mates Liam and Niall with them as well -- Liam had been in his advanced literature class last term, and Niall’s on the football team, although he hadn’t been when Zayn was for those two days. They both seem alright enough, which is why Zayn’s never been able to sort out why they hang around with Louis, but the three of them have been as thick as thieves since Zayn started school.

“Zayn!” Harry greets him, grinning like a maniac and waving like Zayn might have somehow forgotten which table they’ve sat at together for the last three years. Zayn cautiously sits down on Harry’s other side, trying to avoid making eye contact with Louis. Luckily, Louis seems determined to do the same. “You know Niall and Liam, yeah?” Harry continues.

“Yeah,” Zayn agrees, nodding at the other two. “Alright?” Liam nods back politely, and Niall grins at him around a mouthful of sandwich.

“And, er. You know Louis too?” Harry’s voice goes unsure and questioning at this, and Zayn forces himself to glance over at Louis.

“We’ve met,” he says, trying to sound impassive. Louis just nods, raising his eyebrows slightly. It doesn’t look like it’s meant to be challenging, just a bit unsure and appraising, like he’s not sure how Zayn’s going to react to his presence.

“Well. That’s. Good, yeah,” Harry says, glancing back and forth between the two boys, smiling like he’s a bit nervous but mostly just pleased with himself. “Louis and I have loads of classes together this year,” he announces to no one in particular.

“Brilliant,” Zayn says, forcing himself to swallow a bite of the first thing he can grab, which turns out to be a granola bar that’s gone a little stale. He grimaces.

“You’re both in Ms. Hall’s literature class, yeah?” Liam asks Harry and Louis. Harry nods enthusiastically, and Louis smiles brilliantly at him before answering.

“Yeah. Doing _Frankenstein_ next. Bit cliche, but I suppose it’s always fun hearing about people getting ripped limb from limb and what have you.”

“You’re not supposed to _enjoy_ it, you twat,” Harry says, laughing and swatting at Louis’ arm. “It’s supposed to be _morbid_ and _grim_.”

“Each literary interpretation is as valid as the next,” Louis replies loftily, shoving Harry’s shoulder in return. They dissolve into a mess of play-fighting and giggles that makes Zayn roll his eyes despite his efforts not to.

“We did that last term,” Liam finally says when they stop. “Zayn was in my class. Remember?” He directs the last part to Zayn.

“Er. Yeah. Was alright, I guess.”

“Well, if you lads needed any help revising it--”

“What, not our Louis,” Niall adds. “Perfect grades and all that.”

“Oi, piss off,” Louis laughs. “I’m _street smart_ , is all.”

“Right, well, if you decide you actually want to pass your classes this term so you don’t end _up_ on the streets, we could help you, is all I’m saying,” Liam continues. “Zayn and I. And I suppose Niall can come as well.”

“Thanks,” Niall says sarcastically, and he pulls a face at Zayn that looks like it’s supposed to mean _what can you do?_

“That’d be brilliant,” Harry says before Zayn can refuse. “I’m hopeless, but Zayn’s ace at, like, books and stuff.”

“I mean, not -- not really,” he protests weakly. Louis turns to look at him, and there’s still something appraising in his eyes -- not unfriendly, but still gauging him about something.

“No, c’mon, let’s. We’ll have a proper little study group,” Harry says, and Zayn doesn’t at _all_ like the devious expression he’s got on.

“What do you say, you lot free tomorrow after school?” Louis asks. The rest of them murmur in agreement, and Zayn stares hard at his sandwich. He has a long list of things he’d rather do than spend his spare time with Louis. Miles long. It has, like, multiple volumes.

“Brilliant. Come ‘round mine, then?” Harry volunteers. He looks meaningfully at Zayn, and Zayn is positive that there’s no way for him to get out of this now that Harry’s got the idea in his head.

“Fine, yeah,” he agrees, and absently hopes that if he’s driven to manslaughter from being forced to watch Harry flirt with Louis all night, that at least a judge will grant him clemency for the cruel and unusual circumstances.

-

“Just please _try_ to be nice,” Harry begs him, leaning up against Zayn’s locker the next day after classes are dismissed.

“I _am_ nice,” Zayn protests, but it’s half-hearted at best. “Or, like. I can be. If I want to.”

“Well _I_ want you to, so please, yeah? C’mon, it’s like, best mate duties, or something.”

“Fine, alright, I’ll _try_ ,” Zayn moans, trying to sound put upon as he follows Harry out to his car. He _feels_ put upon, and Harry deserves to know it.

“Anyway you’ll have to learn to get along with him when he falls in love with me and we get married and go live on a farm to raise, like, goats and stuff.”

“Yeah? And how exactly am I involved in your little married on a farm goat-raising scenario, then?”

Harry looks at him like that’s a very stupid question. “You’ll come live with us, obviously. To tend to the chickens.”

“I see,” Zayn answers. “And I don’t suppose I get a say in this?”

“Not at all,” Harry laughs, slinging an arm around Zayn’s neck. Zayn elbows him in the ribs, but by the time he finally shakes Harry’s octopus-like grip free, Zayn’s laughing too.

-

Zayn is decidedly _not_ laughing several hours later when he’s shoved in the farthest corner of the couch in Harry’s basement while Harry and Louis make a mess trying to toss popcorn into each other’s open mouths. _Someone’s probably going to choke_ , he thinks. Zayn knows the Heimlich maneuver, but he’s not sure he’s particularly in the mood to use it right now, so if they do, they’re on their own.

“Thought we were meant to be studying,” he mumbles to no one. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, necessarily, but Niall’s crammed up against his right side, and he snorts with laughter.

“This is downright studious for Louis, mate,” he says. “Look, he’s actually still got a book touching him.” Right as he says it, though, Louis shifts to try and shove a handful of popcorn down the back of Harry’s shirt, and the brand new and unopened copy of Frankenstein that had been perched on his knee falls to the ground.

Zayn rolls his eyes. “M’gonna get a drink,” he says, standing up and trying not to grind any loose popcorn into the carpet. Harry’s mum’ll have a fit if she sees this mess.

He remembers that he promised Harry he’d try to be nice, though. “Er, you want anything?” he asks Niall and Liam, who’s diligently taking notes on Niall’s other side.

Liam shakes his head without looking up from his notebook ( _why’s he got a notebook?_ Zayn wonders, _he’s not even in that class anymore_ ), and Niall just grins easily. “Nah, cheers though.”

Zayn shrugs, and steps pointedly around Harry and Louis on the floor, not asking if they want anything. He hadn’t specifically promised he’d be nice to _Louis_ , he reasons, just that he’d try, in general. Which he has.

He wanders upstairs and lets himself into the fridge, searching for a drink and possibly a snack like he’s done more times than he could possibly count. Harry’s mum has always told him to help himself to anything, that he should feel at home even if she’s not there, which often she’s not, working late at the hospital and all. Sometimes he suspects that she likes him a bit better than she likes Harry. Which is fair enough, because he _knows_ his own mum feels the same way about Harry.

He’s running his finger absently over an old football schedule that’s held up on the refrigerator with a magnet when he hears someone coming up behind him.

“Hey,” Louis says. Zayn’s back stiffens, but he forces himself to turn around.

“Louis,” he says evenly.

“Just getting some napkins, Harry kicked over a glass of water.”

“Oh. Okay.” Zayn’s not thirsty anymore, or hungry, and mostly he just wants to leave the room as fast as possible, but Louis is between him and the door, so he stays put. For nothing better to do, he pulls a pile of towels from beneath the sink and hands them to Louis.

“Thanks,” Louis says. He’s not as loud as he usually is, like he think Zayn might spook easily. “Been a while, yeah?” he continues.

“Yeah, a bit,” Zayn agrees, trying to stay neutral. It’s been years since he’d actually spoken to Louis, but who’s counting?

“Your sisters alright? Your mum?”

“They’re _fine_ ,” Zayn grits out.

“Good. Um. Give ‘em my best, yeah?”

Zayn just huffs a sigh and shoves past Louis, and heads out to the garden instead of back downstairs. He folds himself up in one of Harry’s mum’s uncomfortable outdoor chairs and pulls his crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket. His hands are clenched into fists and he has to make a conscious effort to uncurl them before he can get his fingers to work his lighter properly.

Having Louis around is bad enough, but the fact that he has the nerve to talk to him like they’re _friends_ , and to ask after Zayn’s _family_ \-- he wants to go back in there and chuck Louis out of Harry’s house, and then shake Harry until some sense works its way into his brain.

But possibly that doesn’t fall under the umbrella of _trying to be nice_ , so instead he stays curled up in the chair, chain-smoking and hiding the cigarette butts in the rubbish bin so Harry’s mum won’t find them and go spare.

It starts to half-heartedly rain and he’s about to stand up and go inside when he hears the back door opening behind him. If it’s Louis, he really doesn’t think he’ll be able to stop himself from saying something nasty. If it’s Harry, he might have to forcibly lock him into a cupboard until he develops better taste in blokes.

But instead it’s Niall, shuffling out in his bright trainers and hunching his shoulders up against the misty rain. “Wondered where you got off to,” he greets, wandering over to sit in the chair next to Zayn.

“Getting a bit of air,” Zayn explains. Niall glances at the end of his lit cigarette and snorts out a laugh. “Clearly.” They sit silently for a bit, Zayn smoking a bit nervously, before Niall speaks again.

“Think the lads wanted to order a pizza. You in?”

Zayn doesn’t particularly want any, but he knows Harry will be cross with him if he stays outside sulking much longer, or just buggers off home like he wants to, so he squashes out his cigarette and stands. “Yeah, alright.”

He hesitates and then reaches out a hand to pull Niall out of the chair. Niall takes it, yanking himself free, and grins again at Zayn. Briefly, Zayn wonders if he ever stops smiling. It certainly doesn’t seem like it.

“Harry and Louis seem to be getting on,” Niall says as the walk back into the house.

“Guess so,” Zayn says, kicking at a loose pebble.

“Get the impression you’re not the biggest fan of it,” Niall says, shrugging.

“I mean, it’s whatever. Harry can hang out with whoever he likes.” He tries to keep the disapproval out of his voice without much success, and Niall must hear the edge to it, because he changes the topic almost immediately, asking Zayn about his classes instead. He’s all easy grins and barking laughs, and by the time they get back to the basement -- where to Zayn’s surprise Harry and Louis are actually _studying_ , perched together flipping through their notes and books -- Zayn forgets to be as angry as he means to be.

Louis looks up at him once, and Harry glances back and forth between Louis and Zayn expectantly, but Zayn just purses his lips together and looks away, dimly registering a flicker of disappointment on Harry’s face before he stares down at his lap. He spends the rest of the evening avoiding Louis’ eyes and talking to Niall and occasionally Liam. Niall puts away an impressive amount of the pizza they order and laughs at Zayn’s incredulous expression afterward.

Liam finally ushers the other two lads out the door, telling them it’s a school night and reminding Niall that he’s got a quiz the next day and Louis that he’s got a paper due soon, which earns him twin eye rolls from both of them.

Zayn nods as they go, and slumps with something like relief as the door closes behind them.

“That wasn’t awful, was it?” Harry asks him hopefully.

“It was tolerable. Sort of.”

Harry sighs, smiling and shaking his head. “Staying to eat? Mum’ll be home soon, we can have second dinner.”

“Yeah, alright,” Zayn says, pulling out his mobile to let his mum know he’s staying.

“Thank you,” Harry says. “For coming. I know you didn’t really want to and all.”

“S’not a problem,” Zayn says, trying to sound agreeable. He finds it’s a much easier task now that Louis’ not around. “C’mon, is there more pizza left?”

-

Louis is at their lunch table again the next day, along with Niall and Liam. Zayn nods hello to all of them, wondering briefly if this is going to become a permanent arrangement.

When they’re there for the next three days in a row, and Harry forces them all to exchange phone numbers (“for future study groups, innit?” he says), he’s fairly sure of it.

-

Of course it’s bloody raining. It’s rained all week, and Zayn’s left his umbrella in Harry’s car, which is not waiting for him in the car park like it ought to be. Zayn leans further back against the school doors that had locked behind him when they’d closed, trying to hide from the rain that’s blowing straight at him when the wind gusts.

He’s texted Harry seven times now, with an increasing amount of frowning faces in each one, and tried calling three times, but his phone must be off or something, because he hasn’t answered.

He checks his phone again just to be sure, and when there are no messages waiting for him, he texts the only other person he can think of.

 _u seen harry?_ Zayn asks. Niall responds almost immediately.

_nah, y? prbly wit louis i reckon tho_

_he was meant to pick me up at school is all_ , Zayn replies. _s’fine tho i can walk_

 _don’t b stupid, its pourin. ill com get u_ , Niall responds.

Zayn recoils a bit from the phone. He hadn’t meant to seem like he was begging for a ride, and he hardly knows Niall well enough to expect him to drop everything and come fetch him. He’s about to decline when there’s a low rumble of thunder, and the rain starts falling harder.

_u dont need to if ur busy, its fine_

_dont bother im already on the way be there in 5_

Alright, then. Zayn hadn’t expected this turn of events, but he supposes it’s not the worst possible outcome.

He huddles closer to the door, and waits.

-

“Thanks, mate, I owe you,” Zayn says emphatically when Niall pulls up less than ten minutes later.

“S’not a problem. Where to?”

“Right next door to Harry’s,” Zayn says, pointing generally in the direction of their houses.

“What’re you doing at school so late, anyway?” Niall asks as Zayn climbs into his car, shaking out his hair as best he can. “Christ, it’s almost half six. You do know we’re meant to leave at three, yeah?”

“Working on my portfolio,” Zayn says, shrugging a bit and buckling his seatbelt. “It’s for drawing, I’ve got a free study this term to work on it. But I’ve slacked off a bit, so I figured I’d catch up.”

“You draw?” Niall asks, sounding somewhat impressed. He taps his long fingers on the steering wheel to a beat that Zayn can’t quite follow.

“Sort of. I mean, I’m not great or anything, but, like. I guess I’m decent.”

“Wish I could draw,” Niall says regretfully. “Always been crap at it, though,” he laughs.

Zayn feels a bit uncomfortable talking about it, so he remembers something Niall had said at lunch the other day and asks “You play guitar, yeah?”

Niall bobbles his head back and forth. “Guess so. Not, like, officially, m’not in a band or anything, but I mess around with it.”

“Ah,” says Zayn, not sure where to go from there. His phone buzzes in his pocket then, and he grabs it out, thankful for the distraction.

_sorry sorry sorry aghhhhhh i fell asleep and my phone was off!!!!! i can be there in like ten minutes ahhhh sorry SORRY SORRY_

Zayn pulls an annoyed face but smiles anyway. Harry’s ill-timed naps are just a fact of life, and he’s gotten used to them by now.

_dont worry niall came n got me. guess hes just a better mate than u_

_ha ha ha yes very good_ , harry replies. _i’ll bring u breakfast tomorrow 2 apologize._

_bring the good biscuits and ill consider forgiving u_

_done! xxxxxxxxx_

Zayn laughs a bit to himself. “Harry?” Niall asks.

“Yeah. The prat fell asleep again, is all,” Zayn explains.

Niall laughs. “Does he do that a lot?”

“Mate, you have no idea,” Zayn says, settling back into his seat. Niall just smiles, and the rain picks up as they drive.

-

“It’s _hopeless_ ,” Harry moans. It’s Saturday night and he’s standing in front of his open closet, which looks like it’s suffered a series of small explosions. “I have literally nothing to wear. Not a single thing. How does this even happen? I must have had clothes at some point.” As he says this, he side-steps a pile of plaid shirts and jumpers, causing him to trip over a boot. He grabs the edge of his wardrobe to steady himself.

“Go naked, then,” Zayn says from where he’s sprawled on Harry’s bed, shrugging and feeling around the mass of Harry’s blankets to find where his mobile’s gone off to. However, when Harry looks like he might actually be considering it, he adds “Er, hang on, never mind. Don’t do that.”

“ _Fine_ , but I give up. You pick. Dress me, please.”

Zayn rolls his eyes but abandons his search and goes to dig through one of the mountainous piles, rummaging around until he finds a vest that he knows Harry doesn’t particularly care for and a well worn gray jumper. “Put it on and shut up,” he says, turning back to the bed to search for his mobile. Honestly, he’s not sure why Harry cares. It’s going to be another pointless party full of pointless people, and whether Harry wears one black t-shirt instead of another won’t have much of an effect on that.

Harry wrinkles his nose at the shirts Zayn has picked, and goes back to digging through a pile with one hand and texting someone with his other.

“Louis says they’ll meet us there in an hour,” he reports. “He’s got Liam and Niall with him.”

“Niall’s coming?” Zayn asks.

“Yeah,” Harry answers, stopping what he’s doing and squinting at Zayn suspiciously. “Why’re you interested in Niall specifically?”

“I’m not.” Zayn picks at a fray on the knee of his jeans. “Just means that I’ll have someone tolerable to talk to when you abandon me to make swotty faces at Louis all night.”

“Liam’s _tolerable_ too, though, and you didn’t mention him by name.” Harry looks much too pleased with himself.

“Oh for Christ’s sake, Haz, I didn’t mean anything by it. Pick a bloody shirt and put it on or we’ll be late.”

“Yeah, alright,” Harry says, still smirking like he’s made some sort of minor victory. He pulls one of his thousands of black t-shirts out from the bottom of the pile of clothes and pulls it over his head, and all of a sudden he looks effortlessly cool and fit. It’s rather unfair, in Zayn’s opinion, who puts more than his fair share of effort into looking cool and fit on a daily basis.

“You gonna sort out your hair?” Harry asks as he crouches down to pull on a shoe.

“S’wrong with my hair?” Zayn asks worriedly, shoving past Harry to look at the mirror above his wardrobe and smooth at the sides. Maybe his quiff’s a bit flatter on the left side, but only a bit -- he can’t see what Harry’s talking about.

On the floor, Harry topples over dissolves into a fit of cackling. “You’re really the worst,” he heaves out between hysterics.

Zayn just steps around Harry, snatching his jacket from the bed. “I’m leaving now, and I’m taking your keys, so if you want a ride in your own car you’d better hurry,” he calls as he heads down the hallway.

He hears Harry thumping along behind him, swearing occasionally when he runs into a wall while trying to walk and shove on his other shoe at the same time, but Zayn doesn’t stop until he’s out front next to Harry’s car.

Harry’s a prat, anyway. Zayn’s hair looks _fine_.

-

By the time they figure out where Nick’s house is -- “No, I swear it’s on the right,” Harry had insisted, which had gotten them properly lost until Harry had remembered that no, actually, he was thinking of someone else’s house entirely -- it’s rather late. Several people have spilled out onto the overly large front yard, and the low boom of a bassline in thumping out from the open windows. Everything smells a bit like piss and lager already, which doesn’t bode well, in Zayn’s opinion.

Louis is on top of a low table in the living room when they finally shove through the front door, clutching a bottle in each hand and dancing as a mass of people laugh and cheer him on. His hair is even madder than usual, and Harry’s eyes light up at the sight of him.

He turns to look at Zayn like he’s asking permission or something.

“Whatever, go on and talk to him,” Zayn says, gesturing. “M’gonna find a drink and have a smoke, or something.” He’s hasn’t even been in the house for a full minute yet and he’s already losing patience with the whole affair.

“I’ll come find you in a mo,” Harry says over his shoulder, already starting to walk towards Louis. Someone in the crowd around Louis -- Zayn can’t be bothered to try and remember if he knows the girl’s name or not -- greets Harry with a smile and a hug, although Zayn can’t hear what she’s saying to him over the music. When Louis spots Harry, he throws his arms up and then hops off the table, shoving aside several people, including the girl, to sling an arm around Harry’s shoulder and force one of his bottles into Harry’s hand.

Zayn rolls his eyes, and elbows his way down the hall and through the kitchen. He finds a beer that no one seems to be drinking and then searches for the back door.

Out in the garden several people have jumped into the pool, fully clothed. Zayn sighs heavily as he flicks a cigarette out from his pack. He has absolutely no interest in what’s going on around him -- everyone’s clearly already drunker than even Zayn had expected, and it’s only going to get worse as the night goes on.

He brushes several empty cans off a chair and settles in. He’s gone through three more foraged beers and twice as many cigarettes when the door bangs open and Niall stumbles out, clutching several plastic cups in one of his hands.

“Zayn, hey,” he says, spotting him. He walks over to where Zayn’s sitting and leans against the deck table. “Christ, it’s hot in there.” His cheeks are bright red and his hair is pushed off his forehead, all sweaty and disheveled.

“Too many people inside, that’s the problem,” Zayn says, only sort of kidding.

“S’pose so. D’you do anything besides smoke in gardens, then?” Niall asks, laughing a bit. Zayn’s first instinct is to scowl, but there’s something about Niall that makes it harder than it usually is to be surly.

“Occasionally behind gymnasiums at school as well,” he says. “Roof of my house, sometimes.”

“Well-rounded,” Niall nods. “D’you want a drink? I took these off of a girl who’d just been sick down her front, figured she’d had enough for a bit.” He gestures at the cups in his hand.

Zayn smiles a bit, sort of halfway. “Nice of you to look out for her,” he says, reaching over to take one of the plastic cups from Niall.

“Mostly I was thirsty, to be honest.”

“Still counts as a good deed, I think, though.”

“Well here’s to me, then. A right hero,” Niall says, tipping the rim of his cup towards Zayn. Whatever’s inside is bright pink and fizzy and smells like petrol.

“Er, she was only sick on herself, right? Not actually into this?” he asks, leveling a stare at the contents of the cup. “‘Cos it smells like she might’ve been.”

“Nah, I witnessed the whole thing. We’re safe.”

“Cheers, then,” Zayn says, and tosses back half the cup in one go. It tastes worse than he had expected it to, if that’s possible.

“Good Lord,” Niall sputters, grimacing as he drinks his. “No wonder she was ill.”

“At least we’ll know it’ll get the job done,” Zayn says. “Might even get me pissed enough to stand going back in there and finding Harry.” He nods towards the back door, which is starting to fog up from the mass of bodies inside.

“Not having fun?” Niall asks.

“This is more Harry’s scene than mine.”

Niall nods. “I know what you mean. S’alright, but Louis likes this sort of thing more than I do too.”

Zayn hums, dragging on his cigarette before putting it out in the last pink dregs of his cup. “Well. S’pose I ought to go do that. Thanks for the drink.”

“Maybe see you around later tonight, yeah?” Niall asks.

“Yeah, if I find Harry we’ll come and have a drink.”

“Preferably not neon pink, though,” Niall says, laughing, and Zayn laughs too despite himself, is still laughing even as he shoulders into the house.

-

He finds Harry.

Specifically, he finds Harry in the den snogging Louis, both of their shirts askew and Louis’ hand on the button of Harry’s trousers. There are several other couples in the den, either passed out on top of each other or equally distracted, and Zayn is momentarily frozen. He knows he ought to just back out and pretend it never happened, but suddenly he’s, angry, practically seeing red, and he knows it’s too late for him to leave without making a scene.

“What the _fuck_ ,” he finally gets out, and at that Harry and Louis shoot apart.

“Shit,” he thinks he hear Louis murmur, pulling at his clothes like he’s trying to set them back in order.

“Oh, er. Zayn, hi,” Harry says, looking like he’s just gotten walked in on having a wank by his mum and the Prime Minister at the same time.

“Jesus, I leave you for less than an _hour_ ,” Zayn says, and he doesn’t realize he’s yelling until several people turn to stare at him, including a clump of people out in the hall.

“It’s not--”

“Please, please do not finish that with _what it looks like_ ,” Zayn growls, closing his eyes for a long second.

“I’ll just--” Louis starts, slipping around Zayn and disappearing into the party.

“Zayn, c’mon,” Harry starts, trying to straighten his shirt with one hand so that it covers the love bite on his collarbone.

“No, _you_ c’mon. Outside,” Zayn says, grabbing Harry by the wrist and dragging him towards the front door.

“What the fuck are you _doing_ with him?” he explodes as soon as the door is shut behind them. There are several younger girls gathered around, but they scatter as soon as Zayn starts in.

Harry frowns. “Well, like. Kind of obvious, I think?”

“But he's a total prat, Haz, c'mon. What are you _thinking_?”

Harry folds his arms and frowns at that. He looks cross. Actually, he looks more cross than Zayn’s ever seen him.

“Have you actually got a _reason_ to hate him, or are you just bound and determined to get between us just for the fun of it?” Harry asks, a hint of challenge in his voice.

“No, I mean. It’s just -- we’ve _talked_ about this.” Zayn wants to throw something. This is going terribly, and Harry seems actually angry, and if he’d just _listen_ to Zayn -- it makes his head spin, which might largely be due to the alcohol, but the frustration coursing through Zayn certainly isn’t helping anything. “He’s not good enough for you, I’ve told you.”

“Yeah, you’ve said it, but, like, you don’t actually have a _reason_. You're just being difficult, and if you’d just give him a chance you’d see you’re wrong,” Harry says.

“He’s a slag, Haz, and he’s obviously using you, and if you can’t see that, then -- then.” He stops himself from saying what he wants to, but Harry’s jaw is set and Zayn can see his eyes going hard.

“What, Zayn? If I can’t see that then what?”

“Then you’re just as stupid as he is,” Zayn says, a bit louder than he means to. He crosses his arms across his chest defensively. Harry’s face immediately goes pale, and Zayn knows that he’s done it now, that Harry is properly angry with him for the first time.

“Fuck off, Zayn,” Harry says, shoving past him. “Just -- just fuck off.”

Zayn thinks he should stop him, should apologize, but he can’t move. Suddenly Louis is pushing open the front door, looking hugely uncomfortable. “Harry?” he asks, catching sight of Harry where he’s beginning to stalk off across the lawn. “Er, everything alright?”

“Fine,” Harry spits out. “I was just leaving, actually, fancy coming with?”

“Yeah, okay,” says Louis, looking back and forth between Zayn and Harry another time with an expression that almost looks like guilt on his face. “D’you -- are you?” he asks Zayn.

“No, he’s staying,” Harry says forcefully, and holds out his hand for Louis. Louis takes it cautiously, but lets himself be led down the pathway to where Harry’s car is parked on the street. As they go, Zayn hears him ask “Alright, babe?” Harry’s shoulders droop, and Louis winds an arm around him. Harry leans his head against Louis’, and then they go behind a row of cars, out of sight.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Zayn says, kicking angrily at the shrub. A girl who’s just come around the side of the house looks at him with alarm on her face and immediately turns back the way she came.

For lack of anything better to do he smokes a cigarette -- he’s smoked too many tonight already, his throat is going to be properly sore tomorrow -- and waits to see if maybe Harry will come back, although he’s not surprised when he doesn’t. He grinds out his cigarette and yanks the door open, slamming it behind him. There’s still a mob of drunk people in the living room, spilling things and knocking things over -- Nick’s house is going to be absolutely _destroyed_. It gives Zayn a sick twist of pleasure, knowing that someone else is going to have a rotten day tomorrow as well.

He desperately wants to leave, only Harry was his ride, and it’s a long walk back to his, so he just pushes through the crowd, waiting to figure out what he should do now.

Eventually he finds Niall in the kitchen, making a long assembly line of sandwiches for the group of drunk people gathered there.

“Zayn,” he says when he notices him. He brushes his hands off on his trousers and shoves the bread aside, coming over to where Zayn is. “Alright, mate? Dani said she heard you having a row with Harry, and...” He waves his hand vaguely and doesn’t finish the sentence.

“S’fine. Just, do you think I could have a ride when you’re ready to go? Harry left, is all.”

“Yeah, alright. We can go now, if you like. Do I need to find Louis, or...?” he trails off.

Zayn shakes his head once, frowning. “Went with Harry.”

“Ah,” says Niall, but doesn’t push it. They press through the house -- Zayn possibly a bit more forceful than he needs to be -- and he leans against Niall’s car, smoking a last cigarette while Niall texts someone.

“Liam’s gotten a ride already so we don’t need to wait for him,” Niall says. “You can smoke in my car if you like, I don’t mind.”

“Nah, s’fine,” Zayn says, flicking the rest of his cigarette into the gutter and climbing into the passenger seat. He hadn’t even seen Liam at the party, but he supposes he did spend most of it either sulking outside or picking fights, so it’s not unreasonable that he might’ve missed him.

Niall doesn’t say anything, just fiddles with the radio and cracks his window when the car starts to fog up. He doesn’t say anything until they pull up in front of Zayn’s house. Harry’s car is already there, and Zayn pointedly does not look at Harry’s window. If he’s up there with Louis, he’d really rather not know.

“See you Monday, then?” Niall asks calmly, smiling at Zayn like they’ve been having a nice conversation instead of sitting in silence.

“Er, yeah. Thanks for the ride. Again.”

“Anytime,” Niall smiles. He waves once as he drives off, and Zayn stays on his front steps looking after his car as it disappears for a moment before shaking his head and going inside.

-

Harry doesn’t show up at Zayn’s house or even text him all weekend, which is unusual enough in itself. Zayn wasn’t sure if he’d expected Harry to turn up and apologize or not -- they’ve never really fought, so he’s not sure how this is supposed to go. Still, when he doesn’t, it hurts a bit, makes him think of things he doesn’t really care to think about.

On Monday Zayn wakes up with a splitting migraine, so he stays home from school, which is more than fine with Zayn. He’s not really eager to see Harry. Or Louis. Or really anyone. His mum leaves pills and water on his bedside table and dims his lights before she leaves for work, and he sleeps for most of the day.

-

But he turns up to school on Tuesday like normal -- he’d left a bit early to walk, since Harry usually gave him a ride, and he hadn’t wanted to sit around waiting when it wasn’t likely to happen.

In Biology he keeps his head down and tries desperately not to accidentally make eye contact with Louis. He concentrates on the lecture instead, and as a result ends up with his most detailed notes of the year, so at least maybe there’s a small benefit to this mess he’s in.

He waits a full five minutes after they’re dismissed to look up, and when he finally does, Louis has gone and the room is empty.

-

Instead of going to the cafeteria at lunch, Zayn heads for the library. He’s not in the mood to sit by himself, and sitting with Harry and Louis feels out of the question, and he can’t think of anywhere else to go. It’s locked, though, because there’s a study hall going on inside, so he sighs and sits down at a bench next to the door, unwrapping his sandwich and setting it next to him even though he has no desire to eat it. He pulls out his sketchbook instead and sits it on his lap, not sure what he means to do but wanting to look like he’s doing _something_ , if only to discourage anyone from bothering him.

After several minutes he hears someone approaching. He focuses on his sketchbook, drawing in several sharp lines and trying to look occupied. However, the person stops next to him, and when he looks up, Niall’s there, smiling.

“There you are,” Niall says, like he’s been looking for him.

“Yeah,” he says, “Here I am.”

“You weren’t at lunch,” Niall says, as if maybe Zayn hadn’t noticed.

“Yeah, well. S’pose you know that Harry and I fought about Louis, then?”

“Louis mentioned it, yeah.” He doesn’t sound angry, though, just... neutral, conversational. Like they’re talking about the weather.

“Y’gonna lecture me for being a twat, then?” He knows he sounds bratty, but he doesn’t particularly care right now. He’s still in a foul mood, and he figures either Harry or Louis has sent Niall to tell him what a prat he’s been.

“Nah,” Niall drawls easily, sitting down next to Zayn on the bench.

Zayn’s a bit confused. “But aren’t you and Louis, like, best mates? Shouldn’t you be defending his honor to me or something?”

“Louis hardly needs defending,” Niall says. He curls one leg underneath him and takes off his hat, running a hand through his hair before putting it back on. _Oh_ , Zayn thinks. It’s not an entirely unpleasant sight. “Anyway, Harry’s your mate too. Hardly a crime to be protective of him.”

“I’m not protective,” Zayn protests. “I just don’t -- I don’t think Louis’ right for him.”

“Right, cos you don’t want Harry to get hurt.”

“No, because Louis’ a _twat_.” Zayn sort of regrets saying it as soon as he does -- it’s not like it’s not _true_ , but even though he’s upset with Louis it’s still probably not great form to insult someone’s mate, especially when Niall’s only been perfectly nice to Zayn. “Erm. I mean. Sorry.”

But Niall just laughs, all loud and his smile taking over his face. “He’s a bit of a twat sometimes, you’re right. But he’s a good sort of twat.”

“I guess,” Zayn mumbles, because he can’t think of anything else to say that won’t make him sound like the arsehole he very probably is.

“Mind if I stay?” Niall asks, like he’s not already sat down and pulled out a frankly impressive array of lunch foods, arranging them on his lap.

“Um. No?” He can’t work out why Niall would want to sit outside the library with him, but also can’t think of a way to ask without being rude.

“Brilliant,” Niall says, peeling a banana. They sit there like that in a companionable silence, Niall eating steadily and Zayn half-heartedly scribbling in his sketchbook.

“What’re you drawing, then?” Niall asks eventually.

“Dunno yet,” Zayn says. “Guess it’s abstract, or something.”

“Is it for your portfolio?”

“Probably not, no. Just passing time, mostly.”

Niall nods like that makes perfect sense. “D’you ever show anyone? Your drawings?” he asks.

“You can look, if you want,” Zayn says, digging out his portfolio from his bag. “Mostly it’s just technique stuff, but.”

Niall flips through the pages, nodding occasionally, and Zayn stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jacket, feeling suddenly exposed. “These’re really good,” Niall says after a bit.

Zayn feels himself blush, embarrassingly. “Er, thanks.” The bell rings, making him jump, and Niall hands his drawings back.

“S’true” Niall says, standing and shouldering his bag. “See you around, then.”

“See you,” Zayn says, a bit flummoxed, staring after Niall and trying to sort out what’s just happened. He can’t, though, and makes himself late for history trying.

-

As if the day is purposefully trying to end up as strange as possible, Liam is leaning against his locker after his last class, with an alarmingly purposeful glint in his eye.

“Zayn, hi,” Liam says when he sees Zayn heading towards him.

“Liam,” he nods. “Alright?”

“Yeah, m’good,” Liam says, side-stepping out of the way so that Zayn can get into his locker and dig out his bag and his sunglasses. “Are you busy?”

“Um, no? I was just going home.” He can’t fathom why Liam wants to know, but suspects he’s about to find out.

“I could give you a ride, if you want?” Liam offers. “I sort of wanted to talk to you, if that’s alright.”

Zayn can’t think of a reasonable excuse that might get him out of it. “Yeah, okay,” he agrees, and follows Liam out to the parking lot and into his beat up, bright yellow car. “Just next door to Harry’s,” he directs, and then sits silently, waiting for Liam to tell him what he wanted to talk about.

“Are you, erm.” Liam starts, fiddling awkwardly with the knobs on the radio. “Like, in love? With Harry?”

“ _What_?” Zayn says. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting but it certainly hadn’t been that. “No, ‘course not.”

“No, sorry,” Liam apologizes. “I just thought maybe, cos you seemed so against him and Louis, and you two fought about him, and. I didn’t mean -- I don’t even know if you’re, like.” He doesn’t continue, just waves his hand vaguely.

“No, I mean, it’s not _that_ ,” Zayn says, realizing what he means. “Harry’s like my brother, yeah? That’s all.”

Liam relaxes a fraction, like he’d been worried that his assumption that Zayn was into blokes might have offended him, and Zayn wants to shake his head and start over, or possibly just erase this conversation from history altogether. But Liam looks intent on plowing ahead, squaring his shoulders before going on.

“It’s just that,” he starts. “Louis’ sort of like my brother too, yeah?”

Zayn squints a bit. “So you know what he’s like, then.” He’s still trying rather hard not to insult Louis directly to his friends, but even Liam must be able to understand why he’s not overly fond of the notion of Louis and Harry getting together.

“I do know what he’s like,” Liam says slowly. “I know that loads of people think he’s loud and brash and a pain in the arse and -- and a bit of a slag.” He stops to swallow hard and Zayn notices that his knuckles are white gripping the steering wheel, like that perception of Louis bothers him more than he’s trying to let on. “But I also know that he’s loyal, and kind, and -- and brave, and that he doesn’t deserve the reputation he has, not by half.”

“Hm,” says Zayn. He doesn’t recall ever having heard Liam say so many words in a row before, and certainly not with such conviction in his voice. It almost makes him consider the idea that he’d been unfair to Louis. Almost. Possibly.

“I know what people think about me, too,” Liam continues. “That I’m a bore, and not very cool, and all that.” Zayn thinks he ought to protest, vaguely, but he stays silent. “M’not exactly popular, but the first day Louis started here he sat with me at lunch at started talking to me like we’d been mates for years even though we’d never met before, and when I told him it’d probably be best if he wasn’t seen hanging around me, he said he couldn’t give a toss what anyone had to say, so.” Liam breathes in quickly, once, like all the words had taken some effort to get out. “And I know he says he doesn’t care what people think about him, but _I_ do, and it’s crap that you’re being so awful to him. He really likes Harry, and he deserves a chance at it.”

“Look,” says Zayn, feeling a bit at loose ends. It’s strange to have someone talk to him about Louis like they know him better than Zayn does, even though Zayn realizes it’s probably true. “I know Louis a bit too, alright? And I know he probably means well, but he’ll get bored of Harry and move on to something new and interesting in less than a fortnight, and Harry’ll be shattered, and I just -- I can’t let him do that to Harry. I’m sorry if that, like, hurts your feelings or something, but that’s how it is.” He crosses his arms and tries to look authoritative, which is something that he’s usually quite good at, but apparently Liam isn’t swayed by his particular brand of posturing, because he just pulls a sad smile and shakes his head, like Zayn’s missing something important.

“Harry can make his own choices, y’know,” Liam says.

“‘Course I know that,” says Zayn, a bit defensively. “Only I’m not going to sit around and pretend to be happy while he gets his heart broken if I can help it.”

“I know,” says Liam, nodding as if he’d expected that exact response. “That’s not the sort of mate you are. But you can’t decide everything for him, and if he wants to give Louis a shot -- and obviously I’m biased, but I think he ought to -- then you should let him.”

They pull into the drive in front of Zayn’s house and Liam parks the car, turning to face him. “I like Harry too, y’know, and I wouldn’t be saying this if I thought Louis was out to hurt him. So maybe just think about giving them a break, yeah?”

Zayn considers this. “I’ll _think_ about it. Maybe.”

“That’s all I’m asking,” Liam responds. “And just -- for the record, Harry’s lucky to have you looking out for him, so.” He shrugs, and Zayn’s not sure what to say, so he says nothing.

“Anyway, that’s all,” Liam says, unlocking the doors. Zayn gathers his bag and climbs out of the car, stopping to lean down to peer through the open window.

“Thanks for the ride,” he says awkwardly, and Liam smiles.

“See you around, yeah?” Liam asks.

“Yeah,” Zayn agrees, waving once as Liam pulls away. He stands in the drive for several minutes after the car turns a corner and disappears out of sight, wondering when Liam Payne became so damn perceptive.

-

Zayn’s pretending to do his homework that night when there’s a tentative knock on his door frame. He looks up to see Harry there, hands jammed in his pockets and looking a bit sheepish.

“Er, hey,” Harry says. “Um. Are you busy?”

“Not really,” Zayn admits, shutting his notebooks.

“Look, I’m really sorry,” Harry starts, pulling off his jacket and coming a few steps further into the room. Zayn gets up and moves over to his bed, making room for Harry next to him.

“Don’t be,” he says, realizing that he’s not angry at all anymore. Mostly just tired, and sort of off-balance from not having Harry around like normal. “I was a complete arsehole. You don’t need to apologize.”

Harry looks like a weight has lifted off of him, and he curls up next to Zayn, tucking his feet underneath him. “I’m still sorry, though. I shouldn’t have left, or told you to fuck off, or...” He trails off. “I wanted to apologize straight away but I thought you might still be cross with me, and then I never saw you at school, and... yeah.”

“It’s fine, Harry, really,” Zayn says. “I was being a miserable twat, I deserved it.”

Harry shakes his head, curls going mad in the process. “I hate fighting with you, though. Don’t wanna do that anymore.” He rests his head on Zayn’s shoulder. “Are we, like, okay now?”

“‘Course,” says Zayn. “We’re always okay.”

“About Louis--” Harry starts.

“It’s fine,” Zayn cuts him off. “M’not gonna tell you what to do. Even though I still think he’s not good enough for you. But I shouldn’t have acted like a prat about it.”

“Yeah, but. If it’s going to be either him or you, it’s you, y’know?” Harry looks at Zayn with his big earnest eyes, all sincerity and kindness, and it makes Zayn feel a bit sick with himself.

Zayn exhales. “It’s not -- I’m not making you choose, it’s just.” He doesn’t know how to end that sentence, so he just looks at Harry, hoping he’ll get what he means. But Harry just stares back at him, waiting for him to go on.

“D’you know why I don’t think you ought to -- to fuck Louis, or date him, or whatever it is you’re doing?” Zayn asks finally.

“You don’t like him,” Harry says simply, shrugging.

“No, but, like. There’s a bit more to it.”

“Okay,” says Harry slowly. “Are you going to tell me what it is? Or am I supposed to guess?”

“Well, it’s like. I used to know Louis, I guess.”

Harry looks confused. “What d’you mean?”

“Before I moved here, and before Louis’ mum got remarried and they moved too. We went to the same school.”

“But that doesn’t make sense,” Harry says. “Why didn’t you ever say anything about him to me?”

“Because, like.” Zayn sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “We were really good friends when we were younger. Basically best mates, yeah? For like, years. But then when we were fourteen all of a sudden he just... disappeared. He wouldn’t talk to me or spend any time with me anymore. I’d go over but he wouldn’t come to the door, he wouldn’t answer when I called, all that. And he got all of these awful new friends on the football team even though we’d hated them all for years and just carried on ignoring me like he was too good for me all of a sudden. And it just. It was shitty and I still don’t know why he did it but I _do_ know he’s a knob, and if he did that to you I’d murder him. He’s not good enough for you, Haz.” He gestures lamely with his hands, trying to make Harry see what he means.

Harry lets out a sigh, shaking his curls out of his face. “I didn’t know that,” he finally says.

“Yeah, well.” Zayn kicks the ground. “Didn’t really want to talk about it, did I?”

“He’s an idiot for doing that, y’know,” Harry says, leaning in towards Zayn so their shoulders bump.

“Probably should’ve told you earlier,” Zayn admits, relaxing against Harry’s arm. “Just -- I dunno. Look, I don’t expect you to hate him on my behalf or anything, and it’s not like I’m still _upset_ or anything, that’s just. Why.”

Harry looks skeptical, and Zayn’s not sure which part of that sentence Harry doesn’t believe. Probably all of it, if he’s being honest, because Zayn’s a crap liar, and Harry knows him too well.

“I know, but.” Harry’s eyebrows furrow even further, making him look like a particularly frustrated rabbit or something like that. _Chipmunk, maybe_ , Zayn thinks. “I thought you were just being an arsehole cos that’s kind of how you are sometimes. Er, well, y’know what I mean.” Zayn shrugs in acceptance, because Harry’s not really wrong about that, so there’s no point being sore about it. “But if he’s been that awful to you then I’ll chuck him, it’s that simple.”

“You don’t have to,” Zayn protests, but even as he says it he feels a bit warmer. It’s nice to know Harry still loves him best, even though he hadn’t really had a reason to doubt that. “You really like him.”

“Can I talk to him?” Harry asks, reaching over to knock his knuckles against Zayn’s. Zayn wraps his fingers and squeezes once. “Like, is it okay to tell him I know that now?”

Zayn blows out a breath. Instinctively he wants to say no, wants to tell Harry to sod Louis altogether and they’ll go driving or to the cinema or do something to distract themselves like before all this business started. It makes his stomach twist up to imagine Harry and Louis talking about him when he was fourteen, all awkward and unsure and serious and too pathetic for even his best mate, apparently.

But maybe he owes it to Harry to at least let him sort this out. Maybe he _definitely_ owes it to Harry, because he’s not quite so awkward and unsure as he used to be when he was fourteen, and heaps less lonely, and that’s almost all down to Harry, he realizes.

“Yeah, alright, talk to him,” he agrees reluctantly.

“We can sort this out,” Harry promises.

“Alright,” Zayn says. _If you say so_ , he thinks skeptically, but bites down on his tongue before he can say that. “Stay for a bit?”

“‘Course,” Harry says, toeing off his trainers and snuggling down further into Zayn’s bed. “Where did I... right, yeah.” He flips his head upside-down over the edge of the bed and digs around underneath it, and when he comes back up he’s grinning and he’s got a box of biscuits in his hand. “Knew I left these here somewhere.”

Zayn rolls his eyes but smiles. “If you keep hiding food around we’ll get ants and mum’ll go berserk on you.”

“Nah,” Harry grins, “She loves me too much to stay cross with me.”

“Yeah,” says Zayn, curling next to Harry. The knot that’s been in his stomach for days is finally coming loose, and he can feel the tension going out of him. “Yeah, she does.”

-

They must have fallen asleep because when Zayn wakes, it’s late, and Harry’s gathering his coat and heading for the door.

“Mum’ll be home from her shift soon and I told her I’d have late dinner with her,” Harry explains quietly. “See you tomorrow, though?”

“Yeah,” says Zayn, only feeling half-awake at best. He reaches over to set his alarm clock and rearranges his pillows. He could still get up and finish his homework, but he knows that's not likely to happen. He’d much rather just sleep, now that he thinks he finally can properly -- he hadn’t, really, the last few nights. “Y’giving me a ride?”

“‘Course I am,” Harry says, grinning and shutting the door behind him as he goes.

-

Zayn’s gathering up his books at the end of biology the next day when a shadow falls over his desk. He tenses, guessing who it is immediately even without looking up.

“Got a second?” Louis asks. Zayn looks up, trying to decide what he should do now. His instinct is to tell Louis to fuck off, but he thinks that would probably upset Harry, so he just stands there.

“Er, I was thinking we could maybe, like. Talk?” Louis looks nervous, and the thought makes Zayn want to laugh a bit.

“I’ve got class,” he says, gesturing vaguely down the corridor. He finally gets all his books into his bag and starts to walk away, but Louis follows.

“D’you think maybe you could bunk off?”

Zayn really, really doesn’t want to bunk off and potentially get a detention in the name of having a chat with Louis, but on the other hand, he knows he’s got a quiz in maths next that he’s almost comically unprepared for. He tries to weigh the two evils against each other, but they’re pretty evenly matched.

“I think it would, um, make Harry happy,” Louis continues. “If we could, like, talk. Just for a bit? Or, you don’t even have to talk, maybe just listen to me. If that’s alright.”

He really wants to say no, or just keep walking, but for some reason Zayn finds himself saying “Yeah, alright.” He regrets it as soon as it’s out of his mouth, but Louis relaxes, like he’d been really worried Zayn would say no, or possibly deck him.

“Let’s go to the football stands so I can at least smoke, though,” Zayn says. If they’re going to do this, he at least deserves a cigarette.

-

“Harry told me the two of you talked,” Louis says, perching a bit awkwardly next to Louis on the bleachers. He runs a hand through his hair, making it stand on end even more than it had been.

“Well,” says Zayn. He doesn’t have a good follow up to that.

“So, like, I thought maybe we could talk too.”

Zayn laughs at that, but there’s no humor to it. “S’funny, that.”

Louis pulls a face. “What?”

“Just that now you actually want to talk to me. That’s a change.”

Louis frowns again.

“Like, we can’t have much to talk about since we’re not exactly friends, yeah? Got that message loud and clear when we were fourteen,” Zayn says bitingly. He hates that he’s still angry about this, but there it is, rising up in his stomach like a wave. “You were too good for me then, so I reckon you still are now.”

For once, Louis looks like he doesn’t have anything clever to say. In fact, he looks absolutely stunned, and if Zayn wasn’t so angry all over again he might appreciate the rare pleasure of leaving Louis Tomlinson speechless.

“Look, it’s whatever, you can still carry on thinking I’m not worth your time if you want, but just be decent to Harry, yeah?” Zayn moves to shoulder past Louis, but Louis reaches out and grabs his bicep, stopping him and forcing him to make eye contact with him.

“Are you kidding me?” Louis asks quietly. “You really -- you thought that’s what happened?”

“What was I supposed to think?” Zayn doesn’t know what’s happening, but he doesn’t want to be doing this, doesn’t want to have this conversation. “I thought we were mates, but then you, like, hated me and didn’t want anything to do with me, so I guess I was wrong. That’s all there was to it.”

Louis shakes his head vehemently. “I never hated you. I was in _love_ with you, you idiot.”

And whatever explanation Zayn had been expecting to hear, _that_ certainly was not it. It takes the air out of him a bit, and suddenly he’s not angry anymore -- it floats out of him like a balloon going flat. He’s not _anything_ anymore besides massively confused.

“Sorry, I just. What? Are you joking? Because it’s not funny if you are.”

Louis shakes his head again, this time slower. “Look, I know I was awful and it’s no excuse, but, like, I was fourteen and all of a sudden I realized I was in love with my _best mate_ , who was also a _bloke_ , and I was just -- just massively freaked out. I didn’t know how to be around you, and --” Louis glances around a bit desperately like he might find the right words to say floating somewhere beyond Zayn’s head or written in the sky. “I was afraid that if you found out, you’d hate me.” He sounds soft and sad all of a sudden. “I couldn’t have handled it if you hated me for that, so I just... figured it would be easier if I just wasn’t around you anymore. So.” He sets his hands down on his lap heavily. “That’s what happened.”

“You could have just _said_ ,” Zayn finally manages to get out.

Louis laughs. “I really, really couldn’t, trust me. I tried, but. I couldn’t. Anyway, then mum got engaged and we were moving, and I thought, well, that’s alright then, at least that’ll be the end of it. But then you turned up here, and you obviously didn’t want anything to do with me, which is fair because I was awful to you, so.”

“So,” Zayn repeats dumbly, still feeling floored.

“If it makes you feel any better, I felt like absolute shit at the time. Still do, actually. I would’ve apologized but it seemed a bit too little too late.”

Zayn just hums, and they sit there silently, Louis’ trainers knocking nervously against the metal.

“I really do like Harry,” he finally says. “I know you want to protect him, but I’m not the same idiot I was when I was fourteen. I mean, still a bit of an idiot, but.” He grins a little sadly. “But, like, I can back off if you really want. I don’t want to come between you two. Think I’ve done my fair share of cocking up your friendships.”

Zayn opens his mouth, and then closes it.

“I, er. Can I think about this? It’s, um.”

“Yeah, probably a lot, sorry,” Louis says, shrugging apologetically. “I just thought you should... know.”

“Thanks,” Zayn says slowly, standing from the bleachers and brushing off his trousers. Louis stays seated, squinting off a bit across the school. “Um. Gonna go now, but, yeah. Thanks.”

Louis just nods at him and then turns, staring across the football field as Zayn clambers down the bleachers.

By the time he gets back to his locker, his mind is spinning. He’s missed almost all of maths, so he decides to call it a wash and just walks home instead, hoping it’ll clear his head a bit.

But by the time he gets home he’s even more confused, and before he knows what he’s doing he pulls out his phone and sends a text:

_can i come over when ur home from school? need 2 talk 2 u about smthng_

-

Half an hour later Zayn goes round to the back and knocks on Niall’s window instead of using the door. He’s not sure why, but it feels appropriate.

Niall pulls it open, laughing a bit as Zayn climbs in. “We’ve got a door, y’know, just for future reference.”

“Yeah, alright,” he says, standing up a bit uncomfortably.

“What’s up, then?” Niall asks.

“I’ve been a twat.”

“Okay,” says Niall. “How d’you mean?”

“To Louis,” Zayn says simply, letting his hands drop down at his sides. He kicks awkwardly at the carpet, suddenly unsure whether he should have even come to Niall about this. He thinks they might be mates now, but it’s still new, and there’s still that twist in his stomach when Niall’s around that he doesn’t really care to think too much about what it means, and that on top of everything that’s happened in the last few days sort of makes him want to go hide somewhere.

Niall scoots over on his bed and gestures for Zayn to come sit next to him. “Tell me,” he says. Zayn walks over as carefully as he can, feeling too big for Niall’s room. There are stray trainers and empty video game cases thrown messily around, two guitars leaning in a corner. He realizes he’s never seen Niall’s room before, but looking at it, it makes perfect sense -- if someone had asked him to imagine Niall’s room, this would have been it.

Zayn sits next to him, careful not to let their knees touch.

“It’s just,” Zayn starts, running a hand over the back of his neck. “I think I wasn’t exactly, like, fair. To Louis.”

“Mm,” says Niall, but it’s not an agreement or a judgment or anything of the sort that Zayn thinks he couldn’t quite stand to hear right now. That’s why he came to Niall, probably, he realizes.

“We used to know each other a bit, and I always thought that he hated me,” Zayn explains, figuring that a vague explanation is enough. “But I guess not, actually. Turns out he had a good reason for the things he did, and it’s just -- it’s a lot. To deal with. ‘Cos I was so sure he was actually a massive twat, but actually I think it might’ve been me the whole time.”

“Don’t think you’re a twat, mate,” Niall says sympathetically. “And Louis’ told me, you know. ‘Bout what happened between you two. Said he figured that’s why you still hated him, since you probably felt betrayed by him and all that.”

“Oh,” says Zayn, going a bit red. “I didn’t know -- I didn’t realize you knew.” He pauses. “D’you actually know everything, then?”

Niall shrugs.

“S’that why you were so nice to me even though I’ve been rotten to Louis this whole time?”

“Nah, not completely. Even before he told me, I figured you were just an alright bloke looking out for his mate. I can understand that well enough.” He knocks his knee against Zayn’s sympathetically, and Zayn feels a jolt go through him.

He realizes that he probably hasn’t told anyone this much about his _feelings_ and all that in he can’t remember how long, not even Harry, and he barely knows Niall compared to Harry. But now that he’s started he can’t stop, feels the words bubbling out of him like some sort of mildly mortifying waterfall.

“The shittiest part,” Zayn says, “is I think I’m still angry with him? Even though I know why he ditched me, I mean. I _get_ it. But it still felt like shit. Still does, a bit.”

“Well, like,” Niall says, sounding like it’s all very reasonable. “Even if he had a good reason, he still went and left you alone. I don’t think he expects you to be happy with him about it. S’alright to still be angry, I think.”

“I just don’t understand why,” Zayn says softly. “I would’ve understood, I’d never have hated him for -- for all that. If he, um. Loved me, or whatever. So why would he have wanted me to think he hated me?”

“I reckon that people can sometimes be a bit awful when they care about someone a lot,” Niall reasons, squinting against the sunlight where it’s coming in sideways through the window. “Don’t mean they’re bad people or anything.”

Zayn suspects that Niall doesn’t just mean Louis. He feels his cheeks go sort of red and ducks his head, hoping Niall won’t notice.

“I shouldn’t -- I dunno, I should get over it. Shouldn’t let it get between him and Haz, at least.”

“Probably not, no,” Niall agrees.

They sit silently, and the edge of Niall’s hand where it’s propping him up bumps Zayn’s. Somewhere in the house a refrigerator or something kicks on, and the hum sits just below the silence.

“Er. Anyway,” Zayn says, shifting. Suddenly he feels too exposed. “I should go, I guess. Thanks for, like. Listening.” He shrugs, moves to push himself off the bed, but Niall’s hand on his wrist stops him.

“Wait,” Niall says. There’s a sunbeam falling across his face when Zayn turns to look at him, swirling with dust and laying across the corner of his cheek. Zayn feels like everything’s gone slow for a moment, and he doesn’t realize that Niall’s leaning in to kiss him until his lips are on Zayn’s.

He hadn’t expected it, but immediately it feels alright. He tries not to freeze, tries to make his brain and his face and his hands work together to respond appropriately, but they’re not listening, so mostly he stays still, lets Niall kiss him.

Niall pulls back after a moment, staying close to Zayn. There’s a small smile on his face and he looks perfectly at ease, like this is something they do all the time.

“What’d you do that for?” Zayn asks, a bit bewildered. It’s probably not the coolest way to respond, or actually even slightly cool at all -- more pathetic and a bit sweaty, actually.

“Felt like it,” Niall says. “I like you.” As if it’s that simple.

“Um. I. Okay,” Zayn says. He’s certainly not _unhappy_ about it, and actually his stomach has started fluttering madly at some point without him realizing it. He sort of wants Niall to kiss him again, as it turns out. He sort of wants Niall to kiss him again _a lot_ , although that still doesn’t help him understand why Niall’s done it in the first place.

“Is that alright?” Niall asks easily. “‘Cos I’m gonna do it again if it is.”

“Yeah,” Zayn says, and means it. “Yeah, do it again.”

Niall smiles even bigger, and curls Zayn closer to him. His lips press softly against Zayn’s, then a bit harder. Then he’s pressing Zayn down against one of his pillows, and Zayn forgets to think anymore after that.

-

“What d’you reckon now?” Niall asks later, winding his fingers loosely around Zayn’s so they rest in the space between their two bodies.

“Reckon I’ve starving, if you’ve got any food,” Zayn says.

Niall laughs. “Yeah, alright.” He rubs his thumb over one of the sharp bones in Zayn’s wrist, tapping him lightly with his blunt nail. “But I mean about Louis and Harry, actually.”

“S’pose it’s up to them,” Zayn says. He’d rather be kissing Niall now instead of talking, but it probably needs talking about, and Niall is the only person Zayn can think of that he _wants_ to talk to right now. Something about him makes Zayn less balled up and frenetic, somehow makes him feel slightly more reasonable. “I feel like a prat for... everything, y’know, with Louis, but it’s like, I’m still not sure how not to be a bit angry with him? But that’s stupid. He’s not actually a bad bloke, and he makes Harry happy, and that’s... that’s what counts.” He shrugs. “I dunno, am I being a total idiot?”

“Not totally,” Niall grins. “Standard amount of idiot, probably.”

“Seriously. Maybe Harry hates me now for being such a twat to Louis now that he knows everything.”

“You’re not a twat, mate, I’ve told you. You’re overprotective because you love Harry heaps, and Harry knows it. S’better than not giving a fuck, if y’want my opinion.”

“I, er,” Zayn starts. “I suppose that’s one way of looking at it.” He glances down at his feet, tangled up with Niall’s, before looking back at him. “Or maybe I’m just actually an arsehole.”

“Are you bound and determined to make yourself out to be an arsehole, then? ‘Cos you’re not, sorry to tell you,” Niall shrugs, looking fairly unapologetic.

Zayn’s not sure what to say, so he settles for closing his mouth and looking past Niall’s shoulder and out the window. It’s nice to hear, but he doesn’t know how Niall can be so sure of that.

“I mean it,” Niall says, leaning in so his breath ghosts on Zayn’s neck. “I don’t like arseholes, and I like you, so. Not an arsehole.”

“Dunno about that logic,” Zayn says, but he smiles despite himself, calming a bit.

“Trust me,” Niall says, smiling back, and he presses a small kiss to the corner of Zayn’s jaw, and then his lips. He tastes like lemons and something fizzy, like sunshine.

“Yeah, alright,” says Zayn, kissing back. “I trust you.”

And when he says it, he realizes he does.

-

“I was thinking. Maybe we could, like, study again? For literature?” Zayn asks the next day at lunch. The five of them are all sat together again. It’s a bit awkward, but there’s a new layer of familiarity underneath of it all that Zayn thinks he can’t be the only one to notice. Harry and Louis are holding hands under the table, and Zayn _knows_ he’s not the only one to notice that.

“Er, yeah, alright,” says Harry, smiling slowly. “We’re done with Frankenstein, but...”

“Got any insights to _Lord of the Flies_ , then?” Louis asks, smiling about tentatively. “I know Liam’s got loads of notes on it but he won’t let me copy them.”

“I’ve told you, you can’t just _copy_ them, but I’ll go over it with you if you want.” Liam sighs, like this is a long-standing battle between him and Louis.

“Yeah, but that sounds like work,” Louis jokes.

“That’s the general idea, yeah,” Liam says dryly.

“We could go to mine again,” Harry volunteers. “After school, yeah?”

“Yeah, brilliant,” Niall agrees. He smiles at Zayn and reaches over with his last two fingers, winding them around Zayn’s for a moment before letting go.

Zayn breathes, feeling like he’s one step closer to doing his best to make all this right. “Reckon I could get a ride with you and Louis, Harry?” he asks.

“‘Course, idiot,” Harry smiles. Louis doesn’t say anything, but he smiles a bit tentatively at Zayn, like he’s recognized it as a peace offering and accepts.

-

In Harry’s car after classes Zayn fiddles nervously with the strap of his bag. Harry and Louis are talking about a girl in their maths class, Harry turning around occasionally to direct something at Zayn -- “You remember Anna, she was that one who threw a massive fit in the hallway last year when she thought someone was breaking into her locker and leaving dirty notes, but then it was only her boyfriend pranking her, yeah?”

When they pull into the drive in front of Harry’s house, Zayn takes in a breath, trying to steady himself. “Er, hang on? I just.” He’s got a speech mostly worked out where he apologizes for being such an arse, and says some wise things about love and all that, but it’s suddenly gone out of his head. Harry and Louis have turned around from the front seat to look at him, which makes him want to crumble a bit, but he forces himself to carry on.

“I’m just, you know, sorry for... everything, basically. I was a twat, and I was wrong, and, like. If you two want to date, or whatever, then I’m... happy for you.” He rests his hands on the back of the seat and chews nervously on his lip.

“Thanks, mate,” Louis says softly, but Zayn’s response is smothered by Harry flinging himself bodily over the seat, grinning madly and tackling Zayn into a bone-crushing hug.

-

“I could _so_ ,” Louis protests.

“Mate, you could _not_ fashion a raft out of only coconuts if you were stranded on a desert island,” Niall says, laughing. “You couldn’t even assemble your desk from Ikea, and it came with instructions.”

They’re all five of them curled up in Harry’s basement, ostensibly studying, but all their books are forgotten in a pile in the middle of the floor, and mostly they’ve been watching a football match for the last hour. Liam is looking at the books a little sadly, like he’s mourning a fate that could have been, but he doesn’t protest, just tries to clean up the mess of crisps and biscuits that are falling all over the sofa they’re piled on.

“I’ll have you know I’m a master craftsman,” Louis pouts. “Just for that, you’re not allowed on my raft. You’ll be stuck on the island all by yourself with a bunch of severed pig heads and then we’ll see who’s laughing.”

“That’s it, he’s officially banned from reading any more of _Lord of the Flies_ ,” Harry says, hiding a laugh behind his hand. “You see what happens when you actually force us to study?” he asks Liam.

“Zayn’ll back me up,” Louis insists. “D’you remember that time I built the treehouse in your backyard?”

“Yeah,” Zayn says, smiling. “It was crap, it broke immediately and you fell out just like I said you would. You had stitches on your chin for class pictures. Your mum went mad. I remember.”

The memory of that day comes back to him all at once -- Louis had bled all over his new white school shirt and his mum had shouted at him while he grinned, still bleeding -- and all of a sudden there’s a pang of something a bit sad in his chest. He remembers a lot of things about Louis. He remembers Louis when he was eight and nervous to start school because he thought they’d put him and Zayn in different classes, and Louis when he was twelve and didn’t make the football team and hid under his bed for hours while Zayn had tried to bribe him to come out. He remembers Louis with a mop of unruly hair and a brilliant smile and always laughing and showing up at Zayn’s house to force him to come ride bikes in the mud or pull stupid pranks on their sisters. Abruptly, he realizes that he still misses that boy even though Louis’ sitting right next to him now.

But Louis is smiling now, just as wide as he had when he was twelve, and he’s got his arm around Harry’s waist, and Harry’s grinning like an idiot too. Niall slides up against Zayn’s other side and when his hand bumps against Zayn’s he leaves it there and doesn’t move. Something around him seems to click, like something fitting properly into place.

“Alright?” Niall asks, pressing his lips against Zayn’s shoulder quickly.

“Yeah,” Zayn says. “Everything’s good.”

He’s still not exactly sure what any of them are doing, really, but he thinks that whatever it is, it’ll probably be alright.


End file.
